Page 90 of ICED
Still locked.
I blink.
What?
I check it twice. Locked. Chain still latched.
My hands are shaking so badly I nearly drop the bat.
False alarm? I turn off the system, heart still pounding. The alarm finally cuts off. I check every window, every room, just to be sure. Nothing. No signs of entry. No shadowy figures lurking. Just a flat full of silence and the soft hum of appliances.
Eventually, I sag against the wall, the bat slipping from my hand. When I manage to calm my breathing down and pull myself together, I head back to Lila’s room, I sit on the edge of Lila’s bed, watching her drift back to sleep. Her small fingers curled around my old hoodie sleeve. I stroke her back until her breathing evens out. Then I reach for my phone.
MAYA: Alarm went off. Nothing there. Front door still locked. I think it was a glitch. But I’m still shaking.
I don’t expect him to be awake; I just needed to tell someone. But less than a minute later, the typing dots appear.
OWEN: Want me to come over? I can be there in ten.
I hesitate. I shouldn’t. But the truth is, I don’t want to bealone right now. Not with that old fear creeping back in, even if it’s irrational.
MAYA: Yes. Please.
OWEN: On my way.
Because of course he is. Becausehe shows up. Every time.
Even at 2:17 a.m., when the alarms scream and the past comes creeping in like smoke through a crack in the door.
There’s a knock at the door exactly ten minutes later and I nearly jump out of my skin.
Even though I know it’s him, even though I asked him to come, the sound rattles through me like a warning shot. My body’s still buzzing from the adrenaline. I check the peephole just to be sure.
It’s Owen. Still in jeans and a hoodie, hair mussed, eyes wide and searching. I undo the chain with trembling fingers and pull the door open.
“Hey,” he says, voice low and careful. “You okay?”
I nod. Then immediately shake my head. And then I’m crying. It’s not the quiet kind. Not the dainty, movie sort of crying where a single tear rolls down your cheek while you blink stoically. This is the kind that takes over. Messy, uncontrollable, like the fear I’ve been swallowing down all night has finally clawed its way back up.
Owen steps in and shuts the door behind him in one movement. “I’ve got you,” he murmurs, arms already wrapping around me before I can collapse. I don’t even think. I just bury my face in his chest and let go. His hoodie smells of soap and winter and something uniquely him. He’s warm, solid, grounding. His arms come around me fully, one hand at the nape of my neck, the other across my back, and I let myself lean into that strength, shaking and sobbing like I haven’t done in years.
“I’m sorry,” I choke out.
“Don’t be,” he says instantly, holding me tighter. “You don’t have to be sorry. Not for this.”
We stand like that for a long time. My knees give out and we sink to the floor together in the narrow hallway, his back against the wall, me curled up in his lap. He doesn’t rush me. Just keeps his arms around me, one hand slowly stroking my hair, the other steady at my back. Eventually, the sobs ease. I breathe in shakily, pulling back just enough to look at him. His face is full of quiet concern. No judgment. No impatience.
Just him.
“Sorry,” I whisper again, wiping at my cheeks. “God, I didn’t mean to lose it like that.”
“You’ve been holding it together all day,” he says gently. “All week. Probably all year.”
I nod, throat thick. “I think I just… I heard the alarm and I know it was probably nothing. A glitch or wind or whatever. But in that moment…” I trail off, my chest tightening again. “I thought maybe he’d found us.”
Owen goes still.
“You mean Jamie?”
